


Alone

by fabfemmeboy



Series: Episode related [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabfemmeboy/pseuds/fabfemmeboy
Summary: They say there are no atheists in foxholes. Set during 2x03





	Alone

They were all so concerned for the state of his immortal soul that no one bothered to ask where he was staying while his dad was in the hospital.

Mostly they just made poor assumptions. Finn and Rachel assumed he was staying with Mercedes, even though the two were barely speaking after the whole Whitney Houston thing. Mercedes and Quinn and Tina figured he was staying with Finn – or, more accurately, with Finn's mom, since if anyone else would be at the hospital all the time it would be the Hudsons, right?

They figured someone had asked him to confirm he wasn't staying at his house. After all, he had a lot of friends, and if he'd said he wasn't staying with anyone, they would have instantly reported back. When no word came, they all just thought...

He was just as happy that way. To be perfectly honest, he was so sick of people – not even of anything specific, just people. He was tired of trying to pretend he wasn't crying, he was tired of being patronized and preached at and hugged by people who would never understand how much he'd already lost, let alone how much there was left to lose.

But the silence started to get to him after the third day. After spending all evening at the hospital where beeps and hums from machines were the only sign that his father was still in there somewhere, the complete absence of sound in the house felt like...like the first week after his mom died, when neither of them felt like talking yet and no one knew what to say.

In the basement at least he could pretend things were normal. Kind of. If he could get his brain to cooperate and go with the “everything's fine” train of thought instead of obsessively googling the likelihood of complications from heart attacks and arrhythmias and wiki-hopping through alternative medicine sites.

After not sleeping for the majority of the week, just staring at the ceiling, he started talking to himself. It began as an attempt to fill the void, to feel less alone in the house. But somewhere around 4 a.m. on Friday morning, it became a little more.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please let him be okay.”

He wasn't sure who he was asking; he didn't really believe there was any big guy sitting up there to answer requests like someone at a customer service counter, and he certainly wasn't arrogant enough to think that, even if there were such a being, he was high enough on the guy's list of priorities. But it felt like what he should say. 

Maybe it was hedging his bets, in case something really was out there. Maybe the catharsis of just asking, of giving voice to what he desperately wanted – no, needed - helped. Maybe he'd just lost his mind from too little sleep.

But in the darkness of his all-white room, in the silence of the early morning that made him long for the ear-grindingly-annoying beeping of the hospital, he couldn't help but hope for a split second he might be wrong about all this.


End file.
